I’ll bet now you wish you’d taken the trouble to track me down, he thought, instead of just assuming I’d bleed out. Now roar and hoot, you brainless, treacherous louts.
They did bellow. The only problem was that soon, one of them pointed and shouted that there, there was the halfling! Will glanced behind him. The crest of the hill was still empty.
How could that be? He was sure he’d drawn the dragons close enough to hear all the commotion. Unless they’d flown away as soon as he lost sight of them, and of course, that was exactly how his luck was running.
He cowered behind the statue for as long as it was practical, popping out to sling stones, ducking back to avoid the spear and rocks the ogres threw at him. When the giant-kin were a few strides away, he scrambled backward, making them chase him farther.
He knew it would only be a little farther. He couldn’t stay ahead of them for long.
He jerked himself out of the path of a thrown hatchet. A pair of ogres pounded at him, spears leveled. He wished he still had his hornblade, or at least his dagger.
Then, behind him, something screeched, loud enough to shake the earth. The ogres froze, eyes wide with dread. Will didn’t have to look around to know what they had seen.
By the time Taegan and Jivex reached the cobbled plaza in front of the Zhents’ mansion, Wardancer had deposited her riders on the ground and taken flight once more, to circle above the house. The bronze was watching to make sure nobody sneaked out the back way.
Baerimel, Jannatha, and to Taegan’s surprise, Darvin Kordeion and Scattercloak stood before the front entrance, a high, black-enameled door reinforced with iron. Had they already knocked, demanding admission? If so, the Zhents had opted not to respond. Scattercloak, hooded and shrouded as ever, stood before the panel, reciting an incantation in his emotionless voice, and lashing one hand, covered almost to the fingertips by a long, flopping sleeve and gloved in gray leather beneath, through a mystic figure. The magic accumulating in the air made shadows twist and twitch where they lay on the ground.
“Stop him,” Taegan said, “without hurting him.”
“Right,” Jivex said.
Hovering, the faerie dragon stared at Scattercloak, and a brassy note blared through the air. It was loud even where Taegan was standing, and judging from the way the wizard flinched, it had sounded right beside his ear. The shadows stopped writhing the instant he botched his spell.
He and his fellow mages rounded on Taegan and Jivex.
“What’s wrong with you?” demanded Darvin, his snowy robes shining in the sunlight. “Help, or stay out of this.”
Rilitar appeared in the center of the square, vanished once more, and an instant later, materialized at Taegan’s side. The puff of air thus displaced rustled the avariel’s feathers.
“Please, wait,” the elf wizard said. “What do you intend?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Baerimel asked. Judging from the redness in her eyes and the tangles in her hair, she’d wept most of the night away. “Maestro, you said the chasme led you to this house.”
“It means nothing,” the bladesinger said. “The first night I encountered the chasme, Jivex and I followed it to Scattercloak’s house before it winked out of sight.”
That silenced them all for a moment, and during that hesitation, something blocked the sunlight streaming from on high. Taegan had to stifle the instinct to cower, even though he realized it was one of Kara’s allies swooping down.
Wardancer touched down with considerable agility in what was, for her, a cramped space. The tip of one scalloped wing brushed a shower of russet paint flakes from a wall, but otherwise, she did no damage. Up close, she smelled like the sea, as bronzes often did.
“What’s wrong?” the dragon asked. “Why haven’t you battered down the door and hauled the Zhents out?”
“As I was just endeavoring to explain,” Taegan said, “that’s not a sound idea.”
“According to Baerimel,” Wardancer rumbled, “they drove Samdralyrion mad, resulting in his death, then murdered little Sinylla. I was fond of that child.”
“We don’t know that they’re to blame,” Rilitar said. “In fact, Maestro Nightwind and I very much doubt it.”
“Because you’re obsessed with the notion that a member of our own circle is responsible,” Scattercloak said, “even though you have no proof. Now, it seems, you mean to point the finger of suspicion at me, even though the fencing teacher already declared me innocent.”
“No,” Taegan said, “I remain convinced of your innocence.” He’d forfeit any influence he had over them if he admitted to being fallible or uncertain. “The point I was endeavoring to make is that our enemy consistently strives to make us suspect the wrong person.”
“I’ve lived near and beneath the Moonsea for centuries,” said Wardancer. “I know the Black Network and the evil it does. If the folk in this house are Zhents, then I can readily believe they’re responsible for our woes.”
“I confess,” Taegan replied, “I’m a stranger to this region. But from what I’ve gleaned, though the lords of Zhentil Keep are tyrants, and their troops, brigands and pirates, most of their subjects are simple farmers and craftsmen, like the majority of folk in any land. It’s likely the merchants who live here have no more harm in them than the average fellow born and bred in Thentia.”
“Have you never heard of spies?” Darvin asked.
“I have,” Taegan said, “but please, think it through. If by some chance the merchants are agents of the Black Network, then they can’t serve the Cult of the Dragon also. The one conspiracy has nothing to do with the other.”
“You don’t know that,” said the wizard in white.
“Yes,” Taegan said, “I do. It’s obvious to anyone who makes the effort to ponder the matter calmly. It’s true that early on, the Zhentarim sought to exploit the Rage to further their own ends, but that’s scarcely the same thing as wanting dracoliches to overrun the world. The Zhentish lords want to conquer it themselves.”
“It comes down to this,” said Scattercloak. “I intend to do everything possible to ensure my safety.”
“I take it,” said Rilitar, “that in your mind, ‘everything possible’ encompasses breaking into the merchants’ home, dragging them forth, interrogating them under duress, or perhaps simply murdering them out of hand. Well, I have bad news for you. Those things aren’t possible, unless you kill me first.”
He placed his hand on the wand he wore sheathed on his belt.
“Trust elves,” said Darvin, “and their convoluted way of thinking to make any situation worse. If your forefathers hadn’t created the Rage, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”
“True,” said Taegan. “Though all of us save Wardancer would be slaves to dragon kings, but I doubt you’d find it a pleasant existence. Those ancient mages liberated Faerûn. We’re each and every one of us in their debt. It’s scarcely their fault that, millennia later, Sammaster corrupted their work.”
It seemed strange to hear himself extolling the accomplishments of elves, when he’d always considered his race to be of little account. But he was simply giving the spellcasters of eld their due.
“If you had to bear the curse of frenzy,” Wardancer said, “you might well think their enchantment already partook of corruption. Still, there’s justice in what you say, and I’m glad I possess no thralls. In a sense, when the ancient elves delivered the small folk out of bondage, they freed the metallic drakes as well, to find a cleaner way of living, even if the means exacted a price for our liberation.”
“This is all irrelevant,” said Scattercloak.
“Perhaps,” Taegan said, “so let’s return to the issue at hand. Which is that dragons attract attention, and accordingly, much of Thentia is watching us at this very moment, peeping from windows and around corners. What will people think if you force your way into this house and harass or slay the inhabitants?”
“The inhabitants,” said Darvin, “are Zhents.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” said Taegan, “if they were trolls. Folk would still decide that the town mages have grown cruel and arrogant. That they’ll commit any crime or atrocity that strikes their fancy, without regard for the law. The burghers will likewise conclude that the dragons who keep calling at Firefingers’s tower are of the same mind, and at least as dangerous.”
“You know what the upshot will be,” Rilitar said. “The Watchlord and the noble families will bar dragons from entering the city. They may even seek to expel us wizards. We’ll lose our homes, and more importantly, be unable to continue our studies. All Faerûn will suffer if that befalls.”
“Let Master Shadow-water and I interview the spice traders.” Taegan grinned. “I can virtually guarantee that they’ll be happy to cooperate with us after we chivvy four hostile arcanists and an angry dragon away from their door. Perhaps we’ll have Sureene use her magic to question them as well. If they have anything to say that can illuminate our present difficulties, we’ll obtain the information, I promise you.”
Darvin sneered. “With Sinylla lying on her bier, what are your pledges worth?”
“No one could honestly guarantee that your work would be devoid of risk,” Taegan said, “and I didn’t. I do promise that I’m close to identifying the traitor.”
“By what method?”
“Avariel wizardry,” Taegan said. “The secret magic of the sky.”
If anyone else had claimed such powers for his reclusive kind, living like barbarians in the depths of the wilderness, he would have laughed. Though, it occurred to him, it was his own people who’d taught him bladesong, and it at least was far from a primitive discipline. Humans certainly had nothing comparable.
In any case, the important thing was that, with luck, Darvin and his allies wouldn’t realize that his pretensions to mysterious and far-reaching occult abilities were merely a bluff.
Baerimel started silently crying, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I just wanted to do something. I need to. Sinylla was my cousin. I was right there with her. I should have been able to save her. But …”
“I understand” Taegan said. “I was there, too, and we will avenge her. But not by lashing out at random. Not by bringing Kara’s enterprise to ruin. That would mean our enemy had won.”
Baerimel gave a jerky little nod and whispered, “I know.”
“So do I,” Jannatha said.
Wardancer grunted. “If Sinylla’s own kin say to pull back, then I’ll honor their wishes.”
Taegan arched an eyebrow at Scattercloak and Darvin and asked, “What of the two of you?”
“I too relent,” said Scattercloak, “for now.”
“Hold on,” said Darvin to his cloaked and hooded colleague, “I still think—”
Scattercloak vanished.
Darvin’s pudgy face turned red at the other mage’s rudeness, and presumably, the frustration of having his intentions thwarted. He turned on his heel and stalked away.
Taegan didn’t relax until Baerimel, Jannatha, and Wardancer departed as well. Then he slumped with relief.
“For a while there, I thought we were all going to wind up brawling in the street.”
“I could have beaten them,” Jivex said.
“I admire your martial fervor,” Taegan said with a smile, “but that’s not the point. Win or lose, it would still have been a disaster. You’d think the others would comprehend that. Wizards are supposed to be wily.”
“Exactly,” said Rilitar, “too wily for anyone to fool or threaten us. Thus, when it happens, it’s alarming enough to stifle our reason and panic us. We have to unmask Sammaster’s agent soon, my friends. Otherwise, one way or another, our enquiry is doomed.”
“I know.” Taegan said
“Shall we go ahead and knock on the merchants’ door?” the magician asked.
Taegan shrugged and said, “I’m reasonably certain it’s pointless. Unless my instincts are in error, the abishais simply commandeered the Zhents’ towers and garden without their knowledge. But I suppose we’d better go through the motions.”
Will was closer to the onrushing greens than any of the ogres. If the wyrms didn’t gobble him up first, it would be because he was so much smaller. He threw himself to the ground to make himself less conspicuous still.
The giant-kin, conversely, shouted and screamed. A few bolted. Others hurled spears and stones, or scrambled forward brandishing flint-headed axes and clubs.
As a result, the greens ignored Will to rip into the ogres. Even so, he was in danger. An enormous scaly foot plunged down and jolted the ground less than a yard from the spot where he lay curled in a ball. Had it stepped on him, it would have squashed him to jelly.
Kara, the halfling thought, I deserve a bonus for this. If we ever see each other again, dig deep into that purse of gems you carry.
As soon as the wyrms raced by, he jumped up and ran, trying to swing around the reptiles. It wasn’t entirely possible. The dragons kept whirling and lunging unpredictably to attack ogres that were seemingly out of reach. Closing the distance in an instant, the greens snatched up the giant-kin, bit them into pieces, or clawed them to tatters of bloody flesh and shards of shattered bone.
A wyrm spun around and glared directly at Will. Well, he thought, I still think this was a good idea, even if it isn’t working out. Hating the spastic clumsiness of his crippled arm, he fumbled a stone into his warsling for one final and surely futile cast.
But before he could let the missile fly, an ogre hurled an axe that stuck in the dragon’s mask just below its eye. The green snarled and pivoted to pounce at its attacker. Will scurried on toward the largest temple.
Not all the ogres had forsaken their camp in front of the structure to chase Will up the hillside. Of those who’d remained, some were dashing to join the fight. Others had begun to retreat toward the shelter of the huge stone pile.
Most of them never even made it to the broad flight of stairs leading up to the primary entrance. A winged shadow swept across the ground, a plume of acidic vapor washed over them from on high, and they reeled and fell, their warty hides charred and blistered. In the mad confusion of the slaughter on the hillside, Will hadn’t even realized that one of the greens had taken to the air. But it had, and employed its breath weapon to deadly effect. It plunged to earth to crush more victims beneath its hugeness, then struck and ripped at any prey that yet survived.
Will sprinted around to the south side of the temple and through one of the secondary entrances. The urge to keep moving, to get below ground where the dragons couldn’t follow, was like a goad jabbing at him. Still, he forced himself to hide behind a pillar and wait until the path was clear.
After a minute, Yagoth and three of his warriors pounded up from the vaults. Will had assumed some guard would run to inform the shaman and any of his followers who happened to be attending him of the battle outside, and plainly, that was what had happened.
Now go out, fight, and die, the halfling thought. And sure enough, Yagoth bellowed “Vaprak!” and led his minions charging out the door.
Will descended into the tunnels and groped his way through the dark until faintness and vertigo overwhelmed him. He struggled to cling to his senses, but passed out anyway.
When he woke, it took him several seconds to recall where he was, and why. Even afterward, he still felt so weak and sick that he feared it was addling him, that he no longer accurately recalled the layout of the crypts.
Though it went against all the instincts he’d acquired as a thief, he decided to call out. Why not? If any ogres remained underground, he was likely dead in any case.
“Pavel!” he cried. “Pavel!”
His voice emerged as a feeble croak, and it seemed clear that nobody, whether human or ogre, was likely to hear it.
But after a moment, an answer echoed out of the blackness: “Will!”
The halfling heaved a sigh of relief. He’d assumed Yagoth had kept Pavel alive, but that wasn’t the same thing as
knowing, and until that moment, he hadn’t.
“Keep talking, charlatan,” Will replied. “It will help me find your worthless arse.”
“All right,” Pavel said. “Yagoth assured me you were dead, but I didn’t believe it. I knew I’m not that lucky.”
Will staggered toward the sound until light blossomed in the gloom, glinting on the contours of the twin idols flanking the entrance to the secret library. The halfling quickened his pace, tripping over the ogre corpses that still littered the floor. The enormous blades that had killed them clanked beneath his boots. The surviving giant-kin had torn them from their mountings.
The source of the light turned out to be a torch in a sconce, enchanted to burn forever with a cool greenish flame. When it illuminated Pavel, Will winced. Seated on a chair beside a table heaped with stone tablets, the priest looked exhausted and half-starved. The gash and livid bruise on his brow were surely painful. But it was even more disturbing to observe his crooked leg. The filthy ogres had crippled him.
“You look like something somebody dumped out of a chamberpot,” said Will. “I mean, even more than usual.”
“I can honestly say the same of you. What kept you?”
“I couldn’t get past all the ogres until I worked out how to create a little distraction. Let me untie that tether, since you’re plainly too stupid to figure out the knot.”
“All right, and while you do that—”
Out in the corridor, the broken blades rattled. One of the ogres was coming, and had likely heard Will and Pavel’s voices.
Will scurried to the rear of the chamber and hid in the shadows beneath a table. He placed a stone in his warsling.
Red eye glaring, the normal one squinched shut, Yagoth shambled through the doorway. Dragon breath had scalded his warty, branded hide, but the injury didn’t appear to be slowing him down any. He held his spear leveled in his hands, and had Pavel’s mace tucked in his kilt.
“Show yourself, little rat!” he bellowed. “I know you’re in here!”
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